


Coming Clean

by GriffinGreen



Category: Errant Kingdom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Minor canon divergence, Non-Explicit, Other, Tending Wounds, feelings what feelings, masochistic baby, no actual violence but a lot of blood, no sex just cuddling, nonbinary MC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GriffinGreen/pseuds/GriffinGreen
Summary: Fabi has met the representative of the Hand of the Serpent, and he is an asshole.He's also bleeding on their doublet.
Relationships: Raiden/Main Character (Errant Kingdom)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Coming Clean

**Author's Note:**

> This story picks up where Chapter 1 of the Nomad route left off, except that Raiden and the MC weren't on their way to meet the rest of the guild and Layla wasn't there to help. It's just Raiden, badly wounded, leaning heavily on the MC and losing blood at a faster rate than either of them are comfortable with.

“ _Ugh_.” With a grunt, Fabi readjusted their hold on the assassin. “How in the seven hells can someone so agile be so fucking heavy?”

The assassin in question laughed, and even though it was a pained sound Fabi could swear they could actually _hear_ the smug expression on the bastard’s face. “Maybe you’re just not very strong.”

They grimaced. “Maybe you’re leaning harder on me on purpose just to be a little shit.”

Rough laughter answered this, simultaneously amused and mocking, and Raiden pointedly didn’t deny it. _Good. Let’s both go ahead and believe that’s what he’s doing, that he could support his own weight if he wanted to._

He’d been spry enough in the sewers despite the gaping wound in his side, adamant that he was fine, that he’d had worse, that Fabi was hilariously overreacting. Somehow, though, climbing back up out of the sewers had caused him to take a turn for the worst, and Fabi privately suspected the movement had ripped the wound wider. Now they scurried through darkened streets, moving from shadow to shadow, with Fabi supporting Raiden as blood soaked through the makeshift bandage with distressing speed.

“I don’t suppose a regular, ordinary, knows-what-he’s-doing healer is an option, Mr. I-have-so-many-bounties-on-my-head-I-lost-count?” Raiden answered this with a sound halfway between a short laugh and a grunt of pain, and Fabi assumed that was probably agreement. “Fantastic.” They scanned the nearby alleys, uncomfortably aware that those bounties meant some bold opportunist might well try to finish the job those two unfortunates in the sewer had started. They took a deep breath. “Fine. Hand over the money you stole at the festival.”

“You’re accusing me of stealing? From such a joyous gathering?” His voice was starting to sound thready in a way they didn’t like. “Fabi, you wound me.”

“I _ought_ to wound you,” they snap back, “except it might actually kill you. Raiden, I swear if I have to fucking search you…”

“Oh, promises, promises.” Raiden chuckled, then grunted as he dug out a coin purse and handed it over.

Fabi hefted it experimentally with their free hand, then grunted as well. “Good enough. The Crown’s not far; think you can make it that far, or am I gonna have to carry you?”

“I told you, I’m fine,” Raiden retorted, but there’s no longer any conviction behind it. “And I notice you’re wary of going to a healer, yet you assume the Pauper’s Crown is safe? What, did old Nemesis charm you already?”

It was Fabi’s turn to huff out a short laugh. “The Crown is safe,” they explained, hefting the assassin’s taller figure into a better position against their slight frame, “because if anyone there wanted you dead, they’d have tried already. Or did you think I hadn’t heard how well you _don’t_ hold your booze?” A soft chuckle greeted this, and Fabi realized sourly that this had been yet another test, checking to see if their logic held up. _Still playing games, even now. Bastard._

…Or, possibly, he was just too tired and hurting to argue.

When they reached the inn, Fabi spared a moment to look longingly up at the second floor window of their rented room, wondering half-heartedly if there were any possible way to get Raiden through it without making his injuries worse. Both of them were covered in filth and blood – including, they noted sourly, their second-best doublet, which had been a lovely dove-grey at the start of the evening and was now turning a not-so-lovely rusty red, courtesy of a certain scarred assassin bleeding on them. Trudging through a crowded bar like this wouldn’t be fun under the best of circumstances, and these were hardly the best of circumstances.

Then Raiden’s knees buckled – not much, just a moment, a barely noticeable wobble – and they sighed. “Fuck it. Let’s go in.”

They drew exactly as many stares as Fabi had predicted, and they grimaced, every instinct screaming to get _away_ from the attention. Instead they marched straight to the bar, head held as high as they could under the circumstances, and made eye contact with Nemesis, daring the older woman to protest. “We’ll need a bath – two baths,” they amend, “sent up to my room. Hot, with soap. And a kettle of boiling water for tea. And clean cloths, and bandages, and a needle and thread, and a bottle of rum, and two bowls of stew.” They cast a critical eye over Raiden and sighed. “And clean bedsheets.” They set the stolen coin purse down onto the counter with a muffled clink. “Should be more than enough in there to cover it.” _And the cost of cleaning – or, more likely, replacing – anything we touch before the bath arrives._

Nemesis really did look like she’d like to protest, but after a long moment she picked up the purse and looked inside. With a sigh she nodded, then jerked her head towards the stairs. “It’ll be a few minutes,” she warned. “I’ll have the boys bring it up for you.”

“That money,” Raiden said, once they were making their way up the stairs, “was supposed to last a week or more, I’ll have you know.”

“ _You’re_ not going to last a week unless we get you cleaned up,” Fabi retorted. “Save your breath, you’re gasping like a dying fish.” Raiden smirked but fell silent.

Once in the room Fabi deposited Raiden unceremoniously on the bed, then took a moment to roll their shoulders and work out the kinks. They pushed tawny hair out of their face where it had come loose from its braid, cursing mildly at the irritation, then turned their attention back to Raiden. “Okay. Vest: off. Shirt: off.” As a teasing, mischievous glint entered his eyes and he began to say something, they added, “Mouth: closed.”

A few seconds later they were untying the strip of cloth, then folding it up again to make a thick pad pressed against the knife wound. “Okay. Lie down on your good side; I’m going to apply pressure again, and keep applying it until you stop losing blood.” Their words were harsh, scolding; now that they were in the relative safety of their room, Fabi had to try harder to hold onto the brash anger that had kept them going this far. Anger was good. Anger was safe. It was a damn sight better than anything else they might feel about the ragged gash now gracing the side of the obnoxious, infuriating, irritating man that Fabi – for reasons the gods only knew – nevertheless would prefer to keep alive if possible.

Raiden bit his lip as they pressed down, wincing in pain – but, much like when they’d first tried to treat the wound, not only pain. Their mouth twisted. “You keep blushing like that and this is gonna be a real awkward ten minutes or so.”

Raiden’s chuckle was soft and, under the circumstances, almost obscenely languorous. “Always so many complaints,” he murmured. “We got out of the shit and the rats, didn’t we? As requested, it’s a better date already.” Fabi rolled their eyes and continued applying pressure.

For a while they were both silent, Fabi pressing down as Raiden pressed his lips together and concentrated on breathing. They couldn’t begrudge him any pleasure he managed to get from the pain, not really; awkward it might be, but at least it might make this more bearable.

Suddenly Raiden broke the silence, their voice husky. “What’s it short for?”

Irritation sprang back into place at this non sequitur. “What?” They shook their head. “What’s _what_ short for? Please tell me that isn’t the blood loss talking.”

“Your name.” He opened one eye to mock-glare at them. “Fabi. What’s it short for?”

“I’m currently trying to keep you from bleeding out,” they said, eyes narrowing, “and you want to know about my name?”

He shrugged. “I need a distraction. Badly,” he added with a rueful laugh. “So: distract me. What’s it short for?”

They regarded him for a long moment, frowning; then, with a little inward sigh, they told the truth. “It isn’t.” Focusing on the bandage they were pressing down, they shrugged. “Fabian is what I tell people, or sometimes Fabienne. You know. _Depending_.” There’s a wealth of information packed into that word, too many stories of times when both a spy and a street urchin might find it easier or safer to seem like someone they’re not. “But really, it’s just Fabi. It’s just my name.” They glanced back at his face, their mouth twisting into a teasing smirk. “Why, what’s _Raiden_ short for?”

He laughed at that. “That tone! I could almost believe you didn’t like my very real, very normal name gifted to me by my dear old mum herself!” When his eyes found theirs again, they glitter with amusement. “Why would you even think to ask a question like that?”

They were saved from having to think of a comeback by a knock on the door. Fabi shot a warning glance at Raiden and mouthed _keep pressing_ , then drew their knife and moved, catlike, to the door. For a long moment they just waited. Then, without warning, they flung the door open, hoping to take whoever was on the other side by surprise – successfully, as it turned out, judging by the terrified look on the face of Nemesis’s oldest nephew, who very nearly dropped the tub of bath water he was holding.

Fabi sighed and lowered the knife. “Bring it inside. Sorry,” they added as an afterthought. “Can’t be too careful.”

The next few minutes were spent with Fabi and the boy going back and forth, fetching all the various accouterments they had requested. Raiden watched this from the bed, amused. “You know you really don’t have to do this?” he said once the boy had left. “I really wasn’t lying when I said I’d had worse. It’s stopped bleeding now; if I can rest somewhere safe I’ll heal up just fine on my own.”

Fabi whirled on him, grateful for the returning rush of anger at his words. “Oh really. _Really_. May I remind you that you got stabbed –“

“Sliced,” he interjected.

“- _whatever_ in a sewer where everything was _covered in shit_? With a knife that might have _also_ been covered in shit? That the only bandage we had was my shirt, which I was wearing while we _trudged through shit_?” Eyes aflame, they stomped over to the bed and leaned down to glare in his face. “Have you ever seen someone die of an infection? Because I’ve seen someone die of an infection, and Raiden, believe me, you do not want to die of an infection. So what you’re going to do right now is get up – _carefully_ – and strip the rest of the way, then go sit in that chair near the bath. I’m going to clean you up, clean that cut up, stitch that cut up, and you’re going to sit there and take it. Do you understand me?”

Raiden’s eyes were wide, his expression nakedly astonished. A moment later it melted away, slowly morphing into a sly smile. “Why, Fabi,” he said, rolling himself into a sitting position, “I didn’t know you cared.”

They rolled their eyes. “Shut up. Just go sit in the chair.”

For a wonder, he complied. Stripped down to his smallclothes, he sat and waited, the insouciant grin marring the illusion of a model patient. Grimacing, Fabi knelt and washed their hands with soap in one of the baths, then turned their attention to the wound. Boiling water from the kettle was poured onto a clean cloth; after a moment to cool, they began dabbing it gently at the blood, cleaning it away to get a better look at the damage.

They winced as it became more visible. Not as deep or as bad as they’d feared; worse than they’d hoped. It wasn’t a clean cut; astonishingly, bounty hunters who lurked in sewers didn’t take particularly good care of their blades, who knew. The rough, jagged tear had to have hurt, and even though Fabi had intended to ignore all of Raiden’s hisses and winces as they worked, they found their touch growing gentler.

“Okay,” they said after a while. “I can stitch this up. But it’s gonna take time,” they warned, “and I’m gonna have to clean it pretty thoroughly first, and none of that’s gonna be pleasant.”

This elicited a laugh. “I mean,” Raiden teased, eyes dancing, “it might be.”

“None of that,” they growled. Splashing rum onto a new cloth, they hesitated. “This is gonna sting.” Then, with no more warning, they pressed the cloth against the wound, holding it firmly as Raiden’s body jerked in response.

“Told you.” They wiped down the wound itself, making sure to get the whole thing, then poured a liberal amount of rum over it for good measure. Throughout all of this Raiden was silent; past the initial reaction, he didn’t even move, except for his hands – they opened and closed, pressing tight into fists and then straining open again as if reaching desperately for something. Fabi ignored this, as they ignored how the thin fabric of his breeches did nothing to hide the evidence that, once again, this response wasn’t entirely negative.

They heard the air whoosh out of him when they finally stopped, the sound like relief. When they looked up, they found Raiden studying them with curiosity on his face. “Why _are_ you doing this?”

Irritated, they blew hair out of their face. “I told you. If anything got into that cut –“

“Dying of infection, yeah, I know.” He shook his head. “But I mean, why do you _care_ if I die screaming? You’ve got other contacts, and you don’t even know me. Hell, I didn’t even think you liked me.”

“I don’t like you,” they grumbled back, the response automatic.

Raiden snorted, the cocky arrogance threading back into his voice. “Wanna try that again? I almost believed you.”

“I don’t!” They glared. “You’re an asshole. You’re _irritating_. You come on too strong and you don’t know when to back off. You like throwing people off-balance, making them uncomfortable. You make stupid jokes and you play stupid games and you don’t take anything seriously, until suddenly you _do_ and then everyone else better be serious too or you judge them. You take stupid risks. You risked _my_ life, just the other night, you remember that? To say nothing of your own. Hell, we wouldn’t even be in this situation if you hadn’t been so recklessly overconfident! Oh, no, we can’t go the safe boring route! We gotta take the shortcut through your ‘underground kingdom,’ where you’ll be totally fine and not in danger at all because you’re just _sooo_ good, right? And then you got _attacked_. You got _hurt_.”

“And that pisses you off.” His voice was calm, unperturbed; his eyes hadn’t left theirs during this rant. “It pisses you off that I got myself hurt, and it pissed you off even more when I wasn’t gonna take care of it. Even though I’m an irritating asshole. Why?”

They opened their mouth to retort, then closed it again, realizing too late that they didn’t actually have an answer for this. “…Do I need a reason to not want someone to die?” they ask after a moment, trying to inject scorn into the words.

Raiden considers this. “Maybe. Maybe not to just not want someone dead, but to get so upset about it? To go out of your way to prevent it? Carrying my ass through the streets, bringing me back to your own room, going to all this trouble? Yeah.” He smirked. “I mean, there’s other folks who’d do the same, but usually cuz I’m useful to them. What do you get out of this?”

Their frown deepened into a glower. “Have you considered that maybe I’m just a decent human being?”

“In this line of work?” He actually laughs, the sound merry and mocking. “Try again.”

Fabi sighed noisily. “Is it a fear of needles? Is that what this is? You’re trying to draw me into an argument so I forget about the part where I still have to stitch you up?” They shook their head. “I have no earthly idea why I care whether you live or die, and it doesn’t really matter, because I’m doing it anyway. Quit complaining about me trying to save your fucking life.” They glared at Raiden and he subsided, but his eyes still watched them, amused and curious.

Trying to regather their wits, Fabi threaded the needle, then cleaned it with boiling water and alcohol. Wiping down the wound again, they glanced back up at Raiden. “You ready? Need anything before I start? I warn you, this is gonna be both boring and painful.” He shook his head, looking resigned. Steeling themself, Fabi got to work.

It wasn’t like sewing cloth. They’d stitched wounds before, but it never got any easier – flesh was tricky, not staying where it was supposed to and growing slippery with blood and sweat, the amount of resistance it offered the needle seeming to change at whim. There was an intimacy to it, the touch of skin to skin, the awkward positioning of limbs and breath, that the tailor and seamstress didn’t have to deal with. Fabi focused, one elbow resting on his thigh for support, trying to keep the stitches small and even, listening to the sounds of Raiden’s deliberately even breathing. When a hunk of hair fell down into their face they tried once to shake it away, then grimaced and focused on looking through it, unwilling to spare a hand to move it.

Then, to their surprise, cool fingers pushed it off their forehead. They blinked, not daring to look up from their work, and frowned; the fingers went away.

They returned the next time their hair got in the way, and this time they stayed – careful not to block their vision, just gently running over their hair, brushing it back, the movements in time with Raiden’s careful breathing. Fabi was surprised to find they weren’t particularly annoyed; on the contrary, it was soothing. For a while they simply sat like that in silence, Raiden stroking their hair as he tried to stay calm and relaxed, Fabi falling into the rhythm of stitch and breathe, stitch and breathe.

Finally, after an immeasurable time, they tied off the thread and sat back, wiping sweat from their forehead. “There,” they said with a sigh, and cleared their throat. “Gonna bandage you up and clean the rest of the… _everything_ off you, but. It should heal clean now.”

Raiden took his hand back with a chuckle, glancing away now that the moment of intimacy was past. “You’re good at that. Ever think of changing professions?”

“Gods, no.” They made a face, and Raiden laughed. “What if all my patients were like you? I’ll stick to the shadows, thanks.”

Clean-up was next after bandages, and it was a chore. Fabi sponged off as much of Raiden as they could, ignoring the running commentary as they ran the washcloth over scars ( _old scars, far too deep and far too many of them_ ), until finally the assassin was clean and the water was dirty. Then they moved to the other small tub with a sigh of relief. “My turn. You just… sit there and air-dry, I guess.”

Turning their back on Raiden, they unceremoniously peeled off their doublet and shirt, revealing lanky limbs and more muscle than one would expect was hidden away under their loose clothing. Behind them, Raiden made a noise. “Putting on a show for me?”

Annoyed, Fabi glanced over their shoulder at them. “If watching someone rinse your blood off of themselves is how you get your kicks, then by all means, have fun.” They continued undressing, pointedly ignoring him.

The water at this point was only barely lukewarm, and the soap was harsh; Fabi didn’t care. It felt wonderful. They cleaned their hair first, shaking it loose of the sad remnants of their earlier braid. Then they sluiced themself off, from the top down, cleaning blood and grime away and feeling better with each bit of clean skin that was revealed. They saved their legs for last; the worst of the sewers was on pants that could thankfully be burned and boots that they’d figure out how to salvage tomorrow, but nevertheless the process of cleaning off their skin befouled the water badly enough that it wouldn’t be any use for anything else afterwards.

Once they were clean and feeling mostly human again, they rummaged around – back still to Raiden – until they’d found and donned a nightshirt. Then they stripped the sheets he’d bled and seeped on and remade the bed, before finally coming back and pushing a bowl of stew roughly into his hands. “Okay. Eat, then sleep,” they said, pulling a second chair over to sit across from him.

Fatigue was catching up to him by this point; to both of them, really. Raiden accepted the bowl with a yawn but didn’t immediately eat. Fabi nudged him. “Come on, you gotta. You lost a lot of blood. Gotta keep your strength up.”

Raiden blinked, then seemed to come awake. “Yeah, okay.” A few bites later, he looked up. “Y’know, I still think I would’ve been fine if I just slept it off.” He watched their face as he spoke.

Fabi rolled their eyes. “Now you’re just trying to piss me off for the fun of it,” they retorted, and he laughed. “And I’m too tired for it to work. Fucking eat so we can sleep, I’m about to fall off this chair.”

“I’d say I’d catch you,” he teased, “but then you’d yell at me about tearing my stitches. On the other hand, you seem to enjoy yelling at me, so. It’s a conundrum.”

“I would do more than yell at you,” they promised solemnly. “After all that, if you made us start all over again? I’d kill you myself and save the infection the work.” They were rewarded with Raiden’s laugh, genuine and deeply amused, and couldn’t help but grin in return.

Afterwards they helped Raiden back to the bed, easing him back to lay on his side, his back to the center of the bed. “Do _not_ roll over onto that during the night, I mean it.” Climbing in on the other side of the bed, they pulled the blanket over both of them and flopped back, hair loose over the pillow, arms up and hands behind their head.

For a long time everything was quiet. Fabi assumed Raiden had fallen asleep quickly, and was about to do the same when he spoke. “Hey.” His voice was softer than usual, gentler. “I really do appreciate it. You helping me, I mean. Even though I’m an irritating asshole.”

They took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “You are an irritating asshole,” they murmured. “And you scared me back there. Bad.”

From behind, they could see his shoulder shake in a soft, silent laugh. “What, those guys? Nah. Even if they had killed me, they weren’t after you. But I wasn’t gonna let them get that far anyway. You were safe.”

Making a face in the dark, they reached across and shoved his shoulder – not hard enough to tip him over, but rough. “I didn’t say I was scared for _me_. Idiot.”

He was quiet then, and Fabi was suddenly glad they couldn’t see his face. “Would it really have bothered you that much?” He sounded subdued. “If I’d died?”

Another deep breath. It was easier, somehow, in the dark with his back to them. “You know what? Yeah. It would have.” Rolling over, they propped themself up on their side, facing his back. “When I thought you were gonna die, yeah, it did scare me, okay? It scared me a lot, and it would have upset me a lot. I don’t want you to die, and I’m not particularly keen on you getting hurt that badly either. _Don’t_ fucking do it again.”

Whatever emotions passed over his face, Fabi couldn’t tell. They only knew what he finally decided to let them hear: a huffed laugh, self-contented and smug. “I knew it. You think I’m too pretty to die. I mean, you’re _right_ , of course, but. I knew it.”

With a loud groan, Fabi pushed at the mop of white curls. Then, careful not to touch the new bandage, they slung their arm over his chest and pulled him close, holding him tight against their chest until they could feel his heartbeat, slow and strong. “Jerk. Don’t get a big head; it doesn’t mean I like you.”

For just a moment they could feel him tense at the sensation of being grabbed from behind. Then he relaxed, melting into the hold. One of his hands came up, wrapping around their arm. “Yeah, you do,” he murmured back. “It’s okay. I won’t tell.”

They laid like that, holding onto each other, until they both fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! It's always a little frustrating to be bitten by the fanfic bug this early in a work, because I know all too well that the moment the next chapter is out, everything here will be hopelessly outdated and obsolete. Still, the alternative is to have no fanfic at all to carry us through these trying times while we wait for the next update, so here we are! I hope you enjoyed it.


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